


A Conversation About Magic

by ignipes



Category: Bandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-01
Updated: 2007-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't believe they have flying broomsticks in London and nobody ever told me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conversation About Magic

Harry swung his broom low over the alley, checking the doorways and windows before he set down on the wet pavement. There was muffled music emanating from a building nearby, something loud and aggressive, but the alley was deserted.

Almost.

"Um."

Startled, Harry spun around. There was a man standing in a doorway, smoking a cigarette beneath a overhang, out of the drizzling rain. His black hair and clothing blended into the black paint of the door, and he was staring at Harry with wide-eyed and open-mouthed shock.

"Oh, _bollocks_ ," Harry muttered. He'd been doing so well, too, seven whole weeks without having to put Memory Charms on any Muggles; he'd nearly broken the departmental record. He sighed and dug his wand out of his pocket.

The man said, "You have a _flying broomstick_."

"Yes, well," Harry said brusquely. "I'm very sorry--"

"You were flying. On a broomstick." The man took a step out of the doorway. He looked more awed than frightened and, weirdly, just a little bit annoyed. "I can't believe they have flying broomsticks in London and nobody ever told me."

Americans, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. "Look, I have to--"

"This is totally worse than the time they didn't tell me Cadbury chocolate is so much better here because they wanted to keep it all for themselves, the assholes. _Flying broomsticks_."

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is--"

"Are you a witch or something?"

"Wizard," Harry corrected automatically, then wondered why he bothered. "I'm terribly sorry--"

"What's the difference?"

"What difference?" Harry asked. Why couldn't the guy just faint or run away screaming like most Muggles did? They didn't usually ask _questions_. "Oh, you mean--witches are women, of course. Wizards are men."

The man took a drag on his cigarette and examined the glowing end for a moment. "Why?"

"Why what?" Harry glanced around. He was growing a bit nervous. There was nobody else around, but somebody could turn the corner at any second, or come through the door at the man's back. Harry did not want to have to _Obliviate_ a whole bunch of Americans; the paperwork for doing magic on Americans was endless, and he had important investigations to conduct. (Ginny had also threatened to kill him if he was out past midnight again, but he thought she had been joking. Probably.)

"Why are wizards men and witches women?"

"Because that's the way it is," Harry snapped. He was painfully aware that he sounded a little bit too much like Aunt Petunia for comfort, so he just raised his wand. "Sir, I am sorry, but I have to erase your memory now."

"Isn't that kind of sexist? What if a boy wants to be a witch instead? Or a girl wants to be a wizard?"

"Then everybody would know she was a nutter." It possibly wasn't the best answer to give to a man who was wearing black eye makeup--Harry was no expert (he never read _Witch Weekly's_ style column, no matter what Ginny believed), but he was fairly certain makeup was supposed to be for girls--but he didn't have time to be polite. "This won't hurt a bit. You won't even notice--"

"You're not just a guy with a flying broomstick," the man said, frowning. "You're a misogynist with a flying broomstick. You would really tell a girl she was crazy if she wanted to be a wizard instead of a witch? That is very not cool, you know. I mean, I get that there's all kinds of ancient symbolism associated with, like, traditional male and female powers and dancing naked under the full moon and everything, but _labels_ , seriously, don't you think that's kind of caveman? Can't you just--"

"It doesn't mean--it's just the _words_ ," Harry said, raising his voice. The man looked very unimpressed, but Harry didn't want to discuss it. He was an Auror, for Merlin's sake, not an anthro-whatsit that those Muggle professors called themselves. "It doesn't matter. You won't remember any of this anyway."

"Why won't--oh, right. You're going to erase my memory." The man was clearly skeptical. "Can you really do that?"

"Yes, sorry. I have to."

"Are you going to drug me?" The man was, if possible, even more unimpressed by that possibility. He shifted his weight a bit, looking worried for the first time since Harry had landed.

"No, I'm going to use magic."

"No way. Really?" The man's entire face lit up immediately, all of the wariness gone. "You can do real magic?"

"Well, yes." Harry pointed out, "I am a wizard."

"No bullshit?"

Harry gestured toward the sky. "You saw me fly in here."

"Well, yeah, but I thought maybe you were, like, psychically linked to your broomstick. Like the Silver Surfer." The man shook his head, grinning. "But real magic. That is so fucking cool."

"I'm afraid I can't let you remember it," Harry said.

"Why not?"

"International Statute of Secrecy. It's wizarding law."

The man chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, then pointed at Harry in a distinctly accusatory gesture. "See, you even call it _wizarding_ law. I don't care what you say, dude. That's really fucking sexist."

Hermione said the same thing all the time (sometimes even with the expletive), so Harry knew better than to argue. "I really am sorry," he said, and he meant it. It was a pleasant change to meet a Muggle who thought the idea of magic was cool rather than horrifying, but laws were laws. "You won't even know anything happened."

"You really have to? Even if I promise never to tell anybody?"

Harry nodded. "It's part of my job, I'm afraid."

"Your job is messed up. Well." The man looked down at the ground for a second, then back at Harry. "Can I ask you something first? About... about magic?"

The man seemed genuinely curious, so Harry nodded.

"If magic is real, and flying broomsticks and magic wands and... whatever." The man waved his hand vaguely about, scattering ash from his cigarette. "Can you tell me, are unicorns real?"

Harry blinked in surprise; he had expected a question about casting spells or making potions or flying. "Well, we're not suppose..." But he'd already broken one regulation by carelessly flying in plain sight of a Muggle; another tiny breach wouldn't matter. "Yes, they are. Quite real."

"Yeah?" A smile spread across the man's face. "Really real? And they look like--"

"The adults have silvery-white coats, long horns. The babies, they're golden, like... like real gold, and they turn silver when they grow up. They're very beautiful."

"Good." The man nodded to himself, as though that was precisely the answer he wanted. "That's good."

"If you don't mind me asking," Harry said, "why does it matter?"

"It's just that my--" Whatever he was going to say, the man changed his mind and fell silent for a moment. Then he shrugged and pushed his hair back behind one ear. "I guess I think that everybody should get to believe in something that's real, even if they never see it."

"But you won't remember I told you."

"Maybe not, but I'll still know."

It had been a long time since Harry had thought of magic as something to believe in rather than a part of life as mundane as air. But it hadn't been so long that he didn't remember what it felt like, the wonder and amazement and strangeness of being eleven years old and _right_ about something that really mattered.

"Will you be safe out here?" Harry asked. The alley was still empty besides the two of them, and he didn't like to leave recently _Obliviated_ Muggles by themselves for very long. "You'll be a little bit dazed at first, but--"

"Oh, yeah. I'm only out here because the door locked behind me and they can't hear me knocking." He demonstrated by tugging on the doorknob. "Somebody will come looking when they realize they don't have anybody to sing the songs."

"Okay. Then I guess I have to..." Harry pointed his wand and said quietly, " _Obliviate_."

In the moments of confusion and disorientation that followed, he soared away.


End file.
